


Mate and Master

by Merrypaws



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mech Preg, Post-War, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrypaws/pseuds/Merrypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post war. The council decides that they need a way to keep the Decepticons under control, as well as making stronger Autobots for the future. Optimus finds himself keeping one particular enemy even closer than he is sure he is comfortable with. <br/>Written for the Transformers kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ratchet looked up as the door opened and didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed as Optimus stepped through. Relieved, because he had halfway expected that he’d have to drag the young Prime into his office for the procedure, disappointed because…

Because it meant that this was really happening.

He cleared his vocalizer as the other stood by the door, seemingly emotionless. “So… It’s all set, then?”

That seemed to break whatever resolve Optimus had been holding on to, because a tiny tremor raced over his frame before his shoulders slumped.

Optimus didn’t quite drag his pedes all the way to the medical berth, but if Ratchet noticed him wanting to, he didn’t comment. The younger bot grimaced slightly as he leaned back against the padded and antiseptic-smelling surface.

“Is it too late to point out just how sick and wrong this is?”

Ratchet blew air through his vents in a Cybertronian approximation of a sigh. “Not really. But I don’t think any of the powers that be will listen now if they didn’t before.”

“But- Sparklings, Ratchet!” the young Prime burst out. “We’re bringing sparklings into this conflict, solely to be used as bargaining chips to keep their sires at bay! And I can’t- I don’t even-“

The tri-colored mech buried his face in his servos, letting out an inarticulate keen of frustration, anger and spark-crushing misery.

“I am to bring into the world a sparkling whose one creator has every reason to resent its very existence, and the other doesn’t have any clue what he’s doing. And what if they take after their sire? Everywhere they go, people will judge them or even blame them for something that happened before they were even sparked. How am I supposed to protect them from that!?”

Ratchet dropped the tool he had been holding and plopped himself down into a chair by the berth, which brought his optics about level with Optimus’ as the other mech was lying on the berth.

“Optimus, look at me.”

He waited until the younger mech’s optics focused on him, looking more like a lost sparkling seeking reassurance than an officer of a planetary force. Ratchet leaned forward in his seat, his face deadly serious.

“Come what may, you can be sure of one thing: That scraplet of yours will have one creator who will love him unconditionally, as himself and not as the shadow of anyone else. One who will fight and die if need be for his right to choose his own path. That’s Pit of a lot more than some people get coming to this world.” 

And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, the old medic found himself smiling without a hint of irony. “And let me reassure you, his creator won’t ever be the first to fall if the time comes when someone must lay down their function for the safety or happiness of that bitlet. There will be people lining up to stand in front of you against any threat. Ah-ah!” He quickly silenced an oncoming protest from the other with a scolding wag of a finger.

“You know there are mechs who would throw themselves into the fire for you or any creation of yours, whether you feel you deserve it or not. We know you’d never ask that of us, but that’s just part of why we’d do it, so you may as well stop feeling guilty about it.”

Optimus stared at his friend for a moment, before dropping his gaze, but there was a smile touching the corners of his lips.

“You’re talking of the sparkling like he already exists.”

“Pit, I know you kid. Once you decide something’s gonna happen, you don’t do things halfway. And if you weren’t on board with this, you’d still be right in that council chamber, arguing back.” Ratchet heaved himself back to his pedes and pulled the tray that held the tools he needed over to the berth.

“Now, you ready for this?”

“Either that or ready to crawl into a hole and hope that if I stay really quiet the universe will forget I exist.” 

The sad little attempt at humor got a huffed chuckle from the veteran medic, not because it was particularly funny, but because it was a sign that the Prime was still, somehow, keeping his processor together.

“No such luck for us heroes, kid. Now open up, and let’s get this show on the road.”

“Will it take long?” Optimus inquired as his chestplates folded away.

“Nah, just a flick of a switch, really. The trick is just knowing what switch to turn.”

They lapsed into silence as Ratchet concentrated on the task at hand, and Optimus concentrated on the not-quite normal feeling of having someone tinker with his internals to keep himself from thinking in too much detail of exactly what this would mean for him. After only a couple of breems Ratchet straightened and put his tools down.

“There. Now close up and run your self-diagnostic.”

Optimus swallowed discreetly before doing as he was told. The same old status reports he had seen a million times before rolled through his HUD, but at the end of the list there were tacked a new set of lines:

_Gestation protocols: enabled_

_Initializing construction nanite production_

_Initializing gestational fluid production_

_Gestation protocols: on standby_

“Any errors?” Ratchet prompted before the silence could stretch too long and awkward. 

“No.”

“Good. Then all there’s left to do is do everything I’ve told you never to do.”

Optimus couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

******

Megatron glared at everything and everyone indiscriminately as he was led through the corridors to some unknown location. He was stasis cuffed, and escorted by no less than four heavily armed Elite Guard mechs. The escort didn’t surprise him nearly as much as the fact that he had been let out of his cell at all. So far the interrogators had been perfectly comfortable keeping bars between themselves and the Decepticon lord.

Another surprise came as he was led to an ordinary room instead of some hidden interrogation cell. Spartan and utilitarian, but none the less an ordinary hab suite with a seating area, energon dispenser and a door that undoubtedly led to an adjoining berthroom.

As he entered with his unwanted entourage, a familiar red and blue form unfolded from one of the chairs and stood in the middle of the floor, facing the door. 

The Prime silently looked the warlord over from helm to pedes, and then said to one of the guards: “Leave us. I’ll comm you if I need anything.”

The guard blanched and stuttered: “S-sir, we have specific orders, directly from the Council-“

“If the Council has some issue with how I fulfill their orders, they can come to me personally. He is chained and I have the codes that can make those cuffs much more uncomfortable than they already are if he tries anything. Get out.” Optimus didn’t raise his voice once, but there was a dangerous edge lurking somewhere behind his words. The guards took one look at their prisoner, then at their superior who was watching them with the intensity of a laser sight, and filed out of the room without another word.

As the door closed with a click and buzz of a lock engaging, the grey mech pulled himself up to his full height and returned the earlier once-over with one of his own.

“Optimus Prime.” Half a sneer, half a gladiator’s greeting to a worthy opponent. The warlord raised an optic ridge. “You seem to have picked up the knack for giving orders and having them obeyed since the last we met.”

Blue optics narrowed at the remark, but otherwise the Prime didn’t react. Then the Autobot seemed to draw himself up and launched into an obviously rehearsed speech:

“I’ve been authorized by the Council to negotiate with you for your and your troops release and re-introduction to the society with certain terms. All of you will be-“

“Spare me that drivel!” Megatron snapped. “If I was interested in any of that Council-approved political babble, I could’ve had my fill from those idiots they kept sending to try my patience at the cells. The fact that we both are here can only mean that they’ve changed tactics, and somehow think you’re a more effective prod than any they tried before. So quit insulting the both of us and cut to the chase.”

Derailed from the course he had prepared for, Optimus floundered for a moment, but then his optics hardened again.

“Alright, then.”

The prime crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck his chin out defiantly.

“The Council wants me to have a sparkling. By you.”

It may have been immature and vindictive, but that poleaxed look on Megatron’s face made his orn so much better.


	2. Chapter 2

Megatron blinked slowly several times, as if testing if reality would reset itself. When that failed, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. “I didn’t take you for one with such an infantile sense of humor.”

Optimus, well on his way to being well and truly fed up, snapped back. “Trust me, right now I really wish I was.”

That effectively deflated the Decepticon’s mounting rage and he went back to staring at the Autobot. 

“You ARE serious.”

Now the smaller mech snarled in turn. “Really, I must’ve been hilarious without realizing if you think I could pull off a joke like this.” 

Shaking the last of his incredulity from his processor, Megatron took a mental step back and let his inner tactician roll the idea over in his processor.

“…What is the Council after with this?” Red optics were pinned on blue ones, narrow and suspicious.

Optimus let go of some of his tension. Plain facts. That he could do.

“Since the war, large military frames have all but become extinct in the main Cybertronian system. But recent events,” he glared pointedly at the warlord, who had the gall to look smug, “have made apparent how unsuited most civilian models are for even effective defense. So, the Council has decided it would be best to bring at least some amount of war-coding back into the Autobot population.” 

“Really?” the war build asked deceptively mildly, one brow ridge lifted as if only out of polite interest. He then shifted his gaze, idly inspecting a tiny nick on one of the cuffs holding his wrists together.

“And why not just extract the codes they need and implant those into Autobots? I hear that method was used with some success on Starscream.”

The Autobot gave the Decepticon a measuring look, but in the end, answered honestly: “The procedure is still experimental, with a fairly low success rate.”

Taking a cue from the warlord, Optimus leaned against the back of the chair he had earlier sat in and crossed his arms in feigned nonchalance.

“ Jetfire and Jetstorm took to the flier code mostly because they were so badly injured in the first place that they had to be practically rebuilt around their new programming. I was told it might take several vorns of research yet before coding transfers between frametypes are feasible.”

The young Prime shifted awkwardly, halfway turning away from the other. “So… The only truly viable option left for mixing the different codes is by… more natural means.” Slag, he’d already practically up and said that he had been ordered to interface with the Decepticon leader and get himself sparked up. Why was he getting embarrassed NOW?

“And this undoubtedly is to be accomplished by using carefully selected carriers, mechs of unquestioned loyalty to the Autobot cause, who will make sure the offspring don’t have any overt sympathies for their Decepticon creators.” Megatron filled in perfectly evenly, but his optics burned hotter with every word.

The Prime turned away in silence, and the grey mech gritted his dentas.

“And then what? After we’ve performed our part in helping the Council’s future pawns into the world, I assume we’ll just quietly disappear? Or maybe there will be an ‘accident’?” he spat.

“No. I did mention a possibility for your re-entry into the society earlier, before I was interrupted.” Optimus pointed out. “The Council is counting on that once you have a more… personal investment involved, you could be convinced that full cooperation is in your best interest.“

The grey mech arched his brow ridges incredulously. “’Cooperation’? What do they want? For us to let ourselves be paraded around like war trophies?”

The younger mech vented deeply before plowing right into the heart of the matter: “I’m sure you have heard of sire coding?”

Optimus saw first puzzlement and then understanding dawning in the glowing optics, and inwardly sighed in relief. At least he wouldn’t have to spell it out. The mechanics had been explained to him, and it still brought just as bad a taste in his intake as the first time. Especially since some part of him could see how this really was the most effective solution.

Megatron for his own part was coming to that same conclusion. It hadn’t even occurred to him before, but now that he turned all the implications over in his processor, it did seem just about brilliant in its simplicity.

Despite what some bots might like to think, most Cybertronians base coding had changed only in some cosmetic ways since ancient times. And what few people bothered to remember was that the original purpose of war builds wasn’t just planetary defense, but also establishing, protecting and then populating new colonies. They were meant to procreate and then guard the new lives under their care, possibly in a hostile environment. Sire coding was really just a specialized application of battle protocols. A mech with active sire coding would prioritize the wellbeing of a sparkling, especially one of his own line, or any carrying mech above all else the same way as a war build with a mission would place achieving a set goal above even their own survival. 

Which practically meant… That any warframe with a carrying mate or newborn sparkling would be as good as collared. 

Once it was made clear to the captive Decepticons that the only option that would allow them even some simile of a function was to accept their chosen breeding partner, most would – eventually – succumb. Pit, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they would have their coding artificially triggered, so that they’d be driven into it by the urge to breed!

And once the deed was done... While there might be an opportunity to escape once they were released from their cells, a sire mech couldn’t abandon their creation any more than a seeker could lose their flight ability. And removing the carriers from Cybertron against their will would cause them undue stress, maybe even endanger their health. Not to mention that in the far flung colonies where fugitives might hide, resources were hard to come by. Resources that were essential to newsparks, especially so. Even if one of them got the idea of running away, the spark deep need to care for their offspring would soon drive them out of hiding.

It was really a rather elegant plan. Maximum gain with minimal interference, letting the mechs be tethered by their own basest coding.

So, the only real question that remained was…

“… Why?” 

Optimus lifted his head, unsure if he’d heard the question, which had come out more as a breath than a word.

“Why all this?” the warlord mused softly to himself, staring somewhere in the middle distance. “Those lazy, arrogant slaggers are too smart to trust that dangling our sparklings over our heads will be insurance enough for our good behavior.” Optimus flinched almost imperceptibly at the notion of innocent lives being used so callously, but quickly got a hold of himself when those red optics pinned him with a searching look.

“They wouldn’t waste all the effort to keep us under surveillance just so they can keep up some public farce of integrating us into the society, when they could just as easily make a public spectacle of our execution as war criminals. So what’s in it for them?”

The Prime pulled himself back into a close approximation of proper military posture. 

“Like I said, the Council has high hopes of making the most of all your abilities, such as putting your skills to use for keeping all of Cybertron safe from any outside threat.” He spoke in even, amicable tones.

“The future generation of Autobot warframes will have the natural ability to fight, but they won’t have the experience. We can teach them about tactics and weapons, but not the kind of working wisdom that comes from observing someone of your own frametype. Someone older, who knows what they’re doing.” he angled his head slightly towards the bigger mech, the acknowledgment being only slightly sarcastic. “Without that early example their development will be significantly hampered as they have to discover everything they can do for themselves.”

Optimus watched as Megatron’s optics dimmed slightly in contemplation. Or maybe it was remembrance. Thinking back to the arena, or maybe even further?

“That’s what makes you too valuable to just be executed. They want you to TEACH your offspring, and other Autobot cadets too, to make them a force up to par with the rebel force that once fought the Autobot army to a standstill.” his voice was softer now. Persuasive in the way admiration ran somewhere deep underneath.

Megatron carefully kept his face impassive in the face of the younger mech’s regard. 

“And if we refuse to take any part in this?”

Optimus blinked as if startled out of a daydream, and turned away. “I’m sure they have something planned.” his voice was mild, but the bitter slant of his mouth betrayed all his thoughts on the matter.

Megatron dropped his servos, the movement only drawing attention to how they were still awkwardly cuffed together. Silence stretched as the warlord measured the mech who had once bested him in combat with his gaze, and Optimus shifted uneasily under the weight of his optics.

“So, they hold a cannon to our sparks and ask if we’d like to play house and pretend the war never happened, while they polish their public image by showing how they’ve domesticated the feared spawn of the unmakers formerly known as Decepticons. And just by agreeing, we are handing them the perfect hostages to keep us under their heel even in the future.” Megatron summed up. The prime turned away, but that didn't help him hide from the other's bitter, cold tone.

“And you, oh tamer of the Slagmaker,” he didn’t sneer, but the expression was audible in every word, “got the honor of being the vending machine that shall dispense the perfect little soldiers the Council needs for their plans.”

Engine giving a roar worthy of a predacon, Optimus spun on his pede and rounded on the grey war build, his face twisted in an expression as fierce as the sound of his systems, barely held back from tripping from battle-readiness to a full attack mode.

“Don’t you even pretend you don’t enjoy any of this! That I risked so much to protect all of Cybertron from you, only for it to come to this!”

Megatron actually, physically, flinched at the sudden display of ferocity from the usually stoic mech, as well as the disgust to match his own in the Prime’s tone. 

He stayed silent for a while, just watching carefully the tri-colored mech, who was still glaring right back at him, all but trembling with pent up frustration and silently daring the bigger mech. 

“And you will be just as trapped as I am.” that in turn, was said perfectly neutrally. A simple observation.

The Prime seemed to come back to himself in stages, first startled at the sudden turn of the conversation, then his processor seemed to catch up with his earlier display of aggression and he wilted, visibly embarrassed. Megatron didn’t call him out on any of it. Instead he continued in the same tone:

“A government so weak and shameful that it will turn to its enemies for strength wouldn’t want you instilling any too idealistic morals into their future weapons. So you will be under a close scrutiny to make sure the sparkling grows up to meet their needs.”

Optimus looked away. Unbidden, he was taken back to his debriefing before this farce of a mission. He remembered Ultra Magnus’ stony expression and tightly clenched fists as the Council presentative had explained the plan. He remembered Alpha Trion’s encouraging little nod as he caught the old mech’s optics, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else in the ancient councilor’s face. A tightness that spoke of hidden concern. And then the others… 

He might’ve been inexperienced, and prone to holding some naïve ideals, but he wasn’t so much of a fool that he would have missed the way some of the old nobles had measured him with their gaze. Smiling a little too wide. Speaking in a little too familiar terms as they assured him that they had every faith in him.

Quite a few of them having found some subtle ways to remind him that if he needed ANY help at all, he’d only need to ask.

His arms were crossed again, but this time they folded further down along his chassis, across his midsection instead of his chest. Cradling the place that would soon house the as of yet nonexistent sparkling.

Megatron watched with fascination the Autobot, who seemed to have for the moment forgotten he wasn’t alone. He took in the troubled look in the sharp blue optics, the determined set of the finely sculpted lips, and the way his chassis seemed to fold itself around a sparkling that didn’t yet exist in anything but speculation and hope. Somewhere in the back of his processor, all those observations crystallized and formed a new question:

“Why are you in this?” 

The smaller mech jumped, almost comically startled and fumbled for words:

“I-I was ordered to-“

“Don’t give me that.” the warlord snarled between his sharpened dentae. “You could’ve said that you wanted to stay on active duty and the Council would’ve been just as glad to keep you as their shiny Elite Guard poster-bot, where the public could see and fawn over you.” 

The savage rage and indignation in his optics was banked to a low glow of twin embers by bemusement. “Why are you here?”

Optimus was held in that gaze for a long moment before looking to the side quickly. Too quickly. 

“What… W-why do you even care?”

Megatron frowned at the change in the Prime’s manner. Before, he had been apprehensive, testy at worst, but completely professional. Now… embarrassed and defensive, like a youngling under the scrutiny of their elder. 

As the silence stretched, the younger mech started to grow unnerved, and crossed his arms with a huff.

“It’s not like it would change your situation any, because…” the Prime trailed off, and turned his optics to the wall. “Because if it’s not me… then it’ll just be someone else.”

Now the warframe blinked. Was the other… pouting? 

“And that… displeases you?” he asked very slowly.

Color flared over the young mech’s face, and he threw a panicked glance at the bigger mech before resolutely turning away again. All at once, the proverbial light bulb flashed on in the grey mech’s processor.

A wickedly fanged grin crept over grey faceplate.

“You… Wanted me for yourself?”

Optimus made a strangled sound that landed somewhere between groan and a squeak. Did the other just… purr? Primus below, he did.

And now the Decepticon was eyeing him with the kind of look that made him feel kind of like the roles of captor and captive had been reversed. 

“Would you care to enlighten me how this… infatuation came to be? If I recall, the first time we crossed patchs, I was very seriously trying to deactivate you.”

His fists clenched at the grey mech’s smug tone, but in the end, he took a deep ventilation. Like he had any dignity left.

“I always had an interest in history. And while pursuing that curiosity… I learned of a young mech. A dreamer. Idealist. Someone who believed in a better future and could dress that faith into words that made others want to believe too.”

He saw how the warlord’s optics narrowed, pleased, and a sharp pinprick of annoyance burned through the embarrassment his processor was drowning in. He steeled himself and looked straight at the Decepticon leader. “I wanted the mech you once were.” Then he let his gaze run up and down and curled his lip as if what he saw was somehow… wanting. “Or what’s left of him anyway.”

It felt kind of like poking a sleeping sharkticon with a stick, but it felt so liberatingly, willfully good.

Megatron’s smile had lost some of its haughtiness, but an amused quirk still lurked at the corner of his mouth, and that was the only thing that kept the Prime’s pedes rooted to the spots they were planted in as the warlord stalked closer.

“Satisfied now?” Optimus had absolutely no qualms about letting his self-satisfaction show in his voice.

The bigger mech bent down until they were close enough for his stormy grey visage to fill Optimus’ whole field of view.

“Very.” the dark whisper washed right over him.

Then, quick as a striking snake, the warframe suddenly swung his bound servos up, over the Prime’s head, and down again, so that when Optimus instinctively flinched back, he was caught in the circle of the other’s arms.

The younger mech squeaked when he was yanked off the ground entirely, and scrambled for something to hold on to balance himself, only to end up clinging to the mech that had just – literally – swept him off his pedes.

Optimus was still blinking and trying to understand what just happened, when he felt Megatron’s laughter rumbling right from the heavily armored chest into his relatively more delicate form. He pulled back to look at the other, but was again given a pause when he realized that for the first time ever, he was truly level with the bigger mech.

Megatron was still chuckling under his breath, and after a moment the tri-colored mech felt his annoyance rearing its head again.

“I’m glad I can still amuse you so.” Optimus growled, slamming his hands ineffectively on the grey chest just for good measure.

The laughter faded away, but there was definite glint in the red optics as the Decepticon studied the mech captured in his arms, and Optimus glared back.

“Keep snarling like that and this will hardly be a chore.”

Cuffed hands shifted against Optimus’ lower back, and a huge servo palmed the blue aft with intent.


	3. Chapter 3

Optimus bucked with a startled ‘Eep!’ at the unexpected grope, making Megatron laugh anew, but he was too startled by the other mech’s sudden change of direction to waste time on being mortified.

“Wait, you… Really are going along with this? Without even a token protest, or stipulations? Why?” he braced his servos against the warlord’s chest to lean back far enough to get a good look at the other’s face. 

“Reasonable imitation of autonomy and free will, in exchange for continuing my line?” the Decepticon intoned with apparent nonchalance as he took advantage of the distance Optimus had put between their bodies to rake optics over the red chassis. “I have made worse deals in my function.”

The warbuild huffed a laugh, though it hardly sounded amused. “Especially given that when I was taken out of my cell today, I expected to be taken to be executed.”

“What… But there hasn’t even been a trial yet!”

“Like it matters.”

Optimus would have objected further, but that last simple statement stopped him. It wasn’t the callous words themselves, but the way they were spoken. Megatron really believed that. No, not ‘believed’. KNEW. Knew it the same way as he knew that if he jumped off the ledge the gravity would pull him down.

And he had the chilling feeling the warrior wasn’t exactly wrong.

Megatron watched the realization settling into the little Prime’s processor. The mech’s face really was far too open for his own good. In the short silence he looked over the colorful mech, who seemed to have forgotten that he was still being held off the ground, by a mech who by all sense should’ve been his prisoner, and smirked. “And truthfully, it doesn’t hurt that I seem to have some fine things laid before me.”

Oh, he could go another orn just on the reaction THAT got.

“Wh-what?” Optimus sputtered, blushing brilliantly.

“Oh, no need to play coy. You certainly never did back on Earth.” the grey mech purred, his engine adding just a little bass vibrations to underscore his voice. “Truly, you were a sight when you threw away that useless restraint and got into full battle mode.”

“You… found me attractive while we were fighting?”Otimus had trouble wrapping his processor around that notion.

Of course, during the fight he himself had mostly been too busy being terrified out of his processor to really consider his opponent’s physical appeal…

“Of course. Among Decepticons, challenging someone into combat is a perfectly legitimate way of showing interest.” Megatron stated matter-of-factly. Then a devious smirk tugged the corner of his lips.

“And if the challenger happens to win, it’s considered bad form not to at least consider their offer. After all, they’ve already proven their worth.”

He leaned closer to his captive audience, deliberately letting his voice slip to a lower, far more intimate register. “Those wings looked good on you, a mod or not. And you looked so fierce, swinging the Magnus Hammer, all bright optics and righteous fury…”

The tri-colored mech felt a shiver run down his spinal strut as he listened to the voice he had secretly fantasized about as a naïve cadet and saw the rising glow in the red optics as their owner called up their confrontation on the small alien world.

Silence followed, nearly crackling with unsaid potential, until suddenly Megatron broke the optic connection and glanced towards the formerly ignored doorway to his left.

“I assume this suite was specifically chosen for the negotiations so that, if I was convinced, the first part of the plan could be carried out immediately?”

The Prime squawked with both embarrassment and indignation as the Decepticon crossed the distance to the door in two long strides and then jostled the mech in his arms to be able to reach the door controls with his bound servos.

The door opened to reveal a room that was equally bare as the antechamber, but the berth that was the central piece was – Megatron noted with some amusement – both spacious enough to accommodate a warbuild, and obviously newly installed.

He managed only a step in the direction of the berth, before a fist smacked on his shoulder. Not hard enough to harm, but certainly hard enough to get his attention.

“Wait a nano-click!”

Surprised, he turned to the little Prime, who was still wearing that embarrassed blush, but he was also glaring up at him with a look of curiosity mixed with suspicion.

“You failed to answer my question. Quit stalling.” For a mech being toted around like a toy and blushing like a virgin, Optimus managed to get very close to his best military tone.

“Did I?” Megatron inquired mildly, but in reality he was getting more than a little vexed. The Autobot was already venting hot air on him, and he was STILL asking questions?

“Fine, you failed to answer the question FULLY. If I’m to give you plain answers without dancing around the issue, then I think I’m owed some in return.” there was a particularly stubborn jut to Optimus’ chin, though he resisted the urge to cross his arms like a confrontational youngling.

“So, what’s with the sudden change of spark? Just a moment ago you were going on and on about how this is all just another plot to trap all of you war frames under the Council’s heel. If you know it’s a trap, then why are you stepping into it willingly?”

“And what would you have me do? Right now, I have very little opportunity to affect my own fate.” the warlord rumbled, bemused. He wasn’t used to explaining himself, to anyone.

“You could still refuse. Or negotiate your own terms for agreeing.” Optimus held firm.

“Refuse and do what? Go back into a cell? Be quickly executed if I’m lucky, turned into a medical experiment if I’m not.” the grey mech sneered, his temper rising again. 

“Believe me, since that debacle on Earth I’ve had nothing but time to go over all the possibilities of what might happen now that the Council finally has their greedy servos on me. And I happen to know a whole lot about the atrocities they’ve ordered to be done on those they find _inconvenient._ ”

Optimus leaned back, still holding a steady gaze on the captive warlord, but now something new was creeping over his face – disgust.

“So you’re just giving up? Bowing to their whim and hoping they leave you alone?”

The bigger mech snarled like a mecha-tiger and suddenly the Prime found himself slammed against a wall with a hot, military-grade armored frame pinning him in place. Optimus flinched at the first impact, but then braced his servos against the grey chestplate and answered the other mech’s sneer with one of his own. He had no chance of actually getting loose, but he could at least give the impression that he was here because he allowed it.

“Don’t think for a moment this will be anything but a new battlefield.” Megatron growled between clenched denta. 

“Playing along with the Council’s schemes has never been as distasteful as it is right now, but if it’s the only option that doesn’t lead to a full lockup or a forced stasis, I’ll take it. As long as I’m able to move around, speak to people and follow the situation first hand, I will have retained some small ability to affect the way things will fall. For me OR my troops.”

He then pressed even closer, deliberately folding the smaller mech into his not-inconsiderable shadow. “My means will have to be subtler, but I promise I will find a way to push back against the system that made me the monster I had to be.”

Bravely the Prime loosened his grip on the grey shoulders, letting the bigger mech take all his weight as he gripped the cheek guards of that infamous bucket-helm firmly and pulled Megatron’s face down towards his own.

“And I promise you, that if you ever again go on one of your self-righteous rampages, trampling innocent civilians to ease your own injuries, I WILL be there to stop you, no matter what the cost.”

Megatron regarded the far smaller he held pinned. The Prime was much more delicate in his build than he was, and barely able to move from where he was held as it was, but the blue optics were pinned on him with a laser-like focus, and the servos holding his head in place were firm. Not hurting, but not ceding an inch, making sure that the warlord had no option but give the mech in front of him his full attention. 

No one had treated Megatron with such audacity since the beginning of the war, so he leaned further down and kissed the younger mech. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how the one led to the other, but he was quickly losing any interest in that particular question.

The smaller mech first made a muffled sound of surprise, which soon turned into an adorable growl of annoyance. Then he started responding to the kiss, only to change the soft pressure of lips into a sharp nip without warning. The pain, almost negligible as it was, made Megatron start enough to pull back for a moment, and doing so, he caught the victorious grin on the little Prime’s face. 

With a growl that was more play than real aggression he yanked the smaller mech away from the wall to kiss him again. He started moving them towards the berth as the duel of lips continued, now with a good deal of biting from both sides, and this time he was allowed.

They fell onto the berth unceremoniously, Megatron remembering to catch most of his far greater weight on his hands, which were still around the Prime. Optimus rewarded his thoughtfulness with long lick up the thickly coiled cables of his neck, sending a rush of tingling charge to his processors. He moved to shift them both further on the berth, but nearly lost his balance when the momentarily forgotten stasis cuffs restricted his movements.

Megatron snarled fearsomely, but the Autobot had the nerve to laugh at his discomfort. Before he could retaliate the slender form squirmed out of the circle of his arms, and scooted towards the head of the spacious berth. From there he watched the struggling warlord, his optics bright and narrow.

Frustrated in many ways, Megatron tugged at the short cable that held his servos together, but with the cuffs active, he couldn’t summon enough power to break them. He glared across the small distance at the Prime.

“Unbind me.”

Now the pleased look on the blue faceplate spread into a full grin.

“No.”

Hot flare went over Megatron’s processor, but the anger soon sizzled into something else that burned equally hot but lower in his chassis. Ignoring his unwieldy state, he heaved himself further up on the berth, until he was looming over the beautifully willful creature.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, you obstinate pain in the diode.”

The blue optics flashed dangerously, but Megatron only smirked back and leaned down to claim another kiss. 

The punishment for failing to see the warning signs however came swiftly, because all of a sudden the little Prime’s legs tangled around one of his, while two relatively small, but powerful servos found his chestplate, and shoved with all they had. 

Between the grey mech’s tenuous balance and the leverage Optimus got by pushing against the berth under him, the Slagmaker toppled over like a stack of empty barrels and hit the floor with an impressive crash.

Megatron blinked at the ceiling from where he had landed, his shoulders on the floor, his lower back rather uncomfortably wedged against the berthframe and his long legs still haphazardly sprawled over the berth.

Optimus leaned over the side of the berth to watch the warlord gather his bearings after his sudden and forcible relocation, and felt an urge to let loose a shout of sheer triumph, because Primus below, _that look on his face!_

He quickly moved back again as the warrior first rolled completely off the berth, and then pulled himself up on his knees, growling in annoyance and embarrassment at being caught so unaware.

In a flash of mad bravado, Optimus leaned languidly back on his elbows, watching the former warlord with slitted optics from under the brim of his helm. He very slowly and deliberately stretched out his legs and then crossed one leg over the other. He grinned as he saw how the red optics were almost involuntarily drawn to the shift and glide of blue and white metal. 

Back in the Academy some mechs who thought they were quite irresistible had made Optimus aware of what some thought was his finest ‘asset’. Experience had taught him they weren’t completely wrong.

Megatron wrenched his gaze away from the limbs and focused back on the face of the mech they belonged to. Seeing the triumphant grin on the smaller mechs face he narrowed his optics, but then a smirk stole over his own faceplate as well.

The Prime barely had the time to look concerned before the warlord’s bound hands shot out and caught a hold of one of the enticing legs and yanked. The tri-colored mech gave a gasp and tried to grasp something, but the finely-woven mesh surface of the berth offered no purchase for his blunt, clawless fingers. Now having the younger mech within easy reach Megatron shifted his grip to the other’s slim waist. A little more careful maneuvering, and he had the Prime’s aft on the very edge of the berth, with himself kneeling between the slim thighs. The height of the berth (slaggit all, had they actually _planned_ that?) put their interface panels just about flush to each other. 

Once he realized their positions, Optimus blushed yet again, but when Megatron chuckled he aimed a glare towards the warrior all the same. Ah, lovely. The little mech wasn’t losing any of his spirit even though he found himself pinned. That was the little, headstrong Prime he had met on that little dirtball called Earth.

Megatron slid his servos up the smaller mech’s chassis, amused by how much of the other’s torso he could cover just with his two open palms. He let his fingers slide along the edge of the Prime’s windshield, making a careful note of how it make the red and blue mech clench his fists and arch just a little bit into the touch. Then, with his servos covering the broad red chest, he locked optics with the other again.

“Unbind me.”

Blue optics narrowed again, but this time there was the tingle of a datapacket being transmitted, and the cuffs opened with a click. With a grunt the former gladiator tore them off and threw them aside without a care. There was a hot-cold rush as cramped and dampened systems came back to full awareness, and as they did, some formerly muted sensors gave the mech underneath him a brief once-over. 

_Young._

_Strong._

_Well formed._

_Receptive._

All systems having reached a consensus that this was a good place to be, Megatron leaned over and caught the plush lips once more. While their mouths meshed his servos roamed, the fingers too thick to fit into the seams, but with his claws he was able to carefully probe into the inner workings and tickle wires and protoform mesh. The Autobot was far from idle, but was hindered by his shorter reach and being all but wrapped inside the Decepticon's embrace. It didn’t seem to hurt his enthusiasm, though.

Megatron slipped one servo lower, until he was cupping the blue aft, lifting and angling for better access. Then he moved forward, pressing his hot and constricting panel against the Prime’s panel. Optimus gasped, breaking the kiss, and Megatron grasped his chin carefully, bringing them to an optic contact. The smaller mech’s vents were running high, and he looked gratifyingly flushed and unfocused with charge, but he needed to be the one to take the next step.

No matter what, there were certain acts Megatron himself found too despicable to ever commit. He needed the invitation. 

Optimus caught the serious look in the other’s face, and pulled himself somewhat out of the fog of lust. He stared into the red optics for a while and seemed to read something there. 

Suddenly, almost unheard under the whine of labored fans, there was the click of a panel opening, and sticky wetness smeared against the bigger mech’s panel. 

Groaning in relief, the warrior let his own panel retract, and his spike spring free. He didn’t spare time for probing the Prime’s valve, the lubricant already oozing down his thighs from where his panel had rubbed against the other’s bared array told him clearly that the other was as lubricated as he could be. Instead he only leaned far enough back to line himself up, and plunged in.

At that first thrust the Prime’s frame seemed to lock up, his head thrown back and his backstrut bowed. But when he did it again the smaller mech seemed to come to himself and locked his legs around his partner’s hips. On the third time he thrust back with a sound that was equal parts snarl and moan.

Megatron gave himself fully into the lust he had felt for this fierce little warrior for far longer than he would ever admit. The young Prime responded beautifully, with passion and honesty that made the carefully calculated moans of professional pleasurebots seem tripe and meaningless. The valve around his spike was exquisite, silky in texture and far tighter than he had expected. Surely a mech with Optimus’ looks and skillset wouldn’t be wanting for willing partners? 

Ah, no matter. All the more for him. Megatron leaned further over his partner, bracing one elbow on the berth beside the smaller mech’s helm while keeping one servo still anchored on a slim blue hip. He licked his lips as he angled his hips and the red and blue mech bit off a surprised curse at the stimulation to a new set of nodes.

Suddenly Optimus’ servos flew up to the grey shoulders, clenching tighter with each thrust while his face scrunched up with something near to pain, until his whole frame spasmed, miniature lightning jumping across the gaps in his plating and a choked cry broke from him.

The grey mech snarled as the valve squeezed him in caressing waves, and gave into the basest drive that urged him to seek for his own pleasure, grinding deep and fast until his entire charge compressed into a hot wave that was shot deep into the smaller mech’s willing body. 

The offering was welcomed, the valve’s rhythmic pulses pumping the nanite-rich transfluid deeper, through a formerly sealed opening and into a chamber to mix with the fluid in it.

The mechs tangled on the edge of the berth were unaware of this, however. In fact, they were hardly aware of where all their limbs were. The thought of moving was distasteful, but the idea of recharging where he was, on his knees, half on the berth was even more so, so Megatron heaved himself up on unsteady legs. Both of their interface panels closed automatically as the movement caused him to slip out of the smaller mech, and he crawled up on the berth, pulling the Prime with him. The other protested the mechhandling sleepily, but settled as he was pulled to a warm, broad chest, and only moments later both mechs were dead to the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Megatron introspection on this one, but I feel I must dig pretty deep into the hows and wherefores of what makes him tick to make him believable in this scenario.
> 
> Also, couple of notes that will become relevant in the future.  
> 1: In this AU, Prowl is alive. He will appear later.  
> 2: If you're anticipating the Blurr/Shockwave content, I must warn you you might be disappointed. I'm thinking of nixing them from the story altogether, because they simply don't serve any purpose in the main plot as it stands. We'll see if I can think of any use for them, but for now consider them a possible pairing rather than a done deal.

Coming out of recharge without his internal alarm was such a novel experience that Optimus found himself momentarily disoriented.

As he tried to shift, he noted that his berth was an entirely wrong shape. Quick grope didn’t manage to locate the edge of the standard-issue slab, but instead something blocky and… warm? It wasn’t until he tried to move further and discovered a heavy weight over his torso that his processor fired up enough to analyze the problem. 

Berth. Too big. Not his. 

Quiet. No alarm. He hadn’t set it. Why? 

Restricted movement. Something lying beside him, partially on top of him. Bigger than him. Energy field. Vaguely familiar… 

Right, it was-

Blue optics flashed online as the final piece of information registered. The Prime found himself staring at grey plating only inches away from his face, a scratched and peeling Decepticon insignia glaring back at him. The weight on his body turned out to be the larger mech’s arm, which was loosely draped over him. 

The Prime remained frozen, but his field was far less restrained. It flared in a wave of shock/panic/embarrassment, bludgeoning intangibly at his berthmate, who stirred with a befuddled groan. 

At the sudden sound Optimus momentarily lost the fight against his rising panic, and reared back with a yelp. On trained instinct he tried to get his pedes under him and get away from his vulnerable position, but with the other mech cuddled to him plating to plating he didn’t have enough room to maneuver. What did happen was that a blue-plated knee planted itself into a grey abdomen at nearly full force.

Megatron came online with a gasp from his vents and bewilderment as his foremost emotion. The warbuild was sitting up and whipping his helm wildly around before his recharge mode was fully disengaged, his engine growling a threat to the unseen assailant.

He had been struck, that much his well-trained battle protocols told him without any conscious query. The injury was hardly worth noting, but why hadn’t his protocols registered the threat before it was close enough to strike?

Movement drew his attention to one side, and he turned in that direction, only to pause when he came face to face with a much younger and more colorful mech. 

His battle protocols halted in their proverbial tracks as another program popped up. No, that wasn’t right. That one wasn’t a threat. He was… Potential.

The grey mech blinked at the word his booting processor had provided. Potential what?

Then his memory banks finished rebooting, and he was able to start putting names and images together in chronological order. 

Optimus Prime. The offer of some amount of freedom. Conditional on him siring a sparkling on the young mech. And his own… slightly embarrassing enthusiasm at carrying out his part of the given order.

With a groan he rubbed the nasal ridge between his optics to further clear his processor, when a flash of white from the corner of his optic drew his gaze. There were long streaks of black paint transfers on the Autobot’s pale thighs. The young Prime also sported rather incriminating lubricant stains further up on his legs. He very pointedly ignored the urge to look down and check his own frame for similar marks. 

Megatron kind of wished he could waiver his dignity enough to bury his face in his servos as the memory of his actions some joors previous just about smacked him in the face. He was hardly the first mech to turn the charge from anger and frustration into something more… carnal, but slag it, he used to have better control over himself. 

What was it about this mech that always made him lose his processor and act on impulse?

Apparently he had been staring while lost in thought, for the tri-colored mech looked down and blanched at the sight of his besmirched frame. He made an instinctive motion to wipe off the offending stains, but flinched with a grimace as the half-dried dregs of lubricant and transfluid only stuck to his fingers in sticky strings.

The warbuild found a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched the smaller mech gingerly trying to peel off the reminders of their activities. The brightly colored little Prime carried himself with certain thoughtful air that often made him appear older than his date of manufacture, but at times it was so very obvious how young he still was. Like now, as he fussed over his fluid-covered chassis in front of a mech he had stained in equal measure. It was almost… endearing.

When Optimus made a disgusted face as his fingers found a particularly gummy patch of coagulated fluids, Megatron couldn’t quite contain a huff of laughter. Blue optics snapped up immediately, and narrowed dangerously over flushed cheek plating. Megatron responded by letting his own gaze roam lewdly over the other’s frame, making sure to linger visibly on all the evidence of their unrestrained romp.

Foregoing speech altogether, Optimus simply bared his denta in a sneer, before pointedly turning his back on the larger mech. Megatron chuckled, but as he allowed his gaze to linger on the other, he found the label his half-waking mind had applied to the younger mech popping up again. 

_Potential._

Potential. He pulled up the glyphs that one word was built of in his mental display, and studied them for a moment against the backdrop of the younger mech’s frame. Modifiers for creating and needing protection, with a sub-glyph for companionship and an overtone that denoted a quality of unknown.

Awareness of the grander scheme going on reared its head again. That unknown was very much a key factor in his current situation, and the direction it would develop in the immediate future.

“Status?” the bigger mech rumbled. The rough edge of his vocals reminded him that, absurdly enough, it was the first word spoken aloud by either of them since last nightcycle. 

Optimus stiffened for a moment, his finger joints tightening on the edge of the berth in a brief convulsion of dread. Before the panic could rise he pushed it back, willing his frame to unwind, and with a slow ventilation accessed his self-diagnostic. The lines of code marched by agonizingly, until at the very end:

_Gestation protocols: active_

_Newspark energy output: 0.14%_

_Initializing protoform construction_

_Nanite reservoir: 78%_

Optimus stared at the few innocent lines that were blinking merrily in his HUD, oblivious of their damning effect on the two mechs sitting close enough to touch but carefully held apart on the berth. He realized he hadn’t answered the question when Megatron gave an inquiring grunt. The Prime swallowed and vented deep.

“Yes.” was all he could force past his vocalizer.

“…Yes?” Any other time Optimus might have been tantalized to realize he was probably the only one since before the war to hear the Slagmaker himself sound so unsure.

“Yes.” What else was there to say?

The former warlord watched as the younger mech seemed to fold in on himself, one servo coming up to cover his face while the other went to his abdomen, before the knowledge hit him like a physical thing. 

A sparkling.

There was a split-click that seemed to be suspended in time as the information registered, a previously unimportant corner of his processor pinged an acknowledgement, and suddenly a new program sprang to life in his HUD. Hardly even aware he was moving, the grey mech flopped gracelessly back down on the berth. 

It was happening. The theory was anything but theoretical anymore.

Megatron stared unseeing at the ceiling even while his processor was straining as it worked the new priorities into his action trees. 

He gritted his dentas as his sensors reached out to the mech beside him unbidden, and his programming applied new glyphs: 

_Carrier. Stay/Protect. Share/Provide._

He directed a mental glare at the two latter glyphs in his HUD. Those would be making his life difficult for the foreseeable future. The programs that came with the sire coding weren’t even fully integrated, and already he was feeling a sharpening of awareness that centered on the other mech. 

Any escape plan that he might have entertained in his cell was as good as shot now. He couldn’t risk it, not when he couldn’t rely on his battle-instincts anymore. The same codes that had kept him alive when stakes were high and there was no time to weigh his options were now prioritizing another mechanism’s wellbeing over his own.

It looked like the Council had won this round.

It was amid these bitter thoughts that he noted one more glyph at the very end.

_Companion-Potential._

Megatron paused at that, staring at the words in befuddlement. He understood the marks used well enough, but the context puzzled him. The glyph was separated from the others by a small margin, the ones before it clearly tying directly into his sire coding and the Prime’s new status as a carrier. This one was more of an… afterthought, if you will. An option that wouldn’t affect the carrier’s wellbeing, and as such was low priority, but nevertheless present.

The warbuild cast another look upon his once and future berthmate. Like always the first thing he saw were the bright colors that he had once scoffed at. He had always believed that the gaudier the paintjob, the less real substance the mech had. But as he and his troops repeatedly clashed with the younger mech he’d had to amend that unfortunate first impression. 

If anything, the vibrant colors had become alluring in their own right, like a symbol of the young mech’s unsullied spirit. A fierce sense of justice that suffered no wrong to go unchallenged, an open spark and natural charm that drew other mechs close, and all that tempered by a deeply carved meditative and humble streak.

He’d had all of those once too, hadn’t he?

And back when things had been so much simpler, at least in his own mind, hadn’t he often wished he had someone to stand at his side? Someone who wouldn’t look at him as either a crazy dreamer nor a savior. A friend, an equal, a… 

Companion.

Just as he reached what tasted like an epiphany on his glossa, a sudden movement from the Prime snapped him out of his internal processing. The younger mech drew a shuddering invent, dropped the servo that had been covering his face, and straightened his spinal strut. One servo was still resting against his abdomen, fingers moving back and forth in a stroking motion that was slight enough to be entirely unconscious. 

Megatron felt a sudden stab in his spark. He had been through countless vorns of war and seen soldiers dealing with trauma. Staring at their servos like they belonged to a stranger. Scratching their paint off to erase the phantom touch they wished to forget. But before he could get sucked further into a memory of mechs with haunted optics, the young Prime turned around.

Whatever the Prime had been contemplating while Megatron was coming to terms with his own changing priorities, he had obviously reached some consensus of his own. His plush lips were pressed tightly together, but his optics were serene and an unmovable, cutting blue, and Megatron found himself relaxing despite himself. 

Really, he should’ve remembered who he was dealing with rather than worry. The Prime – Optimus, he should do the other the courtesy of remembering his name – had taken a city’s worth of organics under his proverbial wing and battled some of Cybertron’s most infamous warriors with nothing but a crew of maintenance bots. He wasn’t so easily intimidated.

The tri-colored mech must’ve read some easing of tension on his face, because his shoulders also dropped ever so slightly, and the lines of his face lost their severity. If anything, the young Prime now looked curious. The servo pressed to the armor over his gestation chamber also relaxed, and just like that the nervous gesture turned almost affectionate. Reassuring a sparkling that was still nothing but a few lines of code and a spoonful of base metals.

Megatron wasn’t a mech prone to changing his mind on a whim. By having already made him re-think his initial assessment, Optimus had already put himself above and beyond most mechanisms. And yet… Yet again, the Slagmaker felt his perspectives shift, with a painful resistance and sudden shift, like a rusted gear. 

The only mech that had bested him in combat in a long, long time was now carrying his sparkling. Optimus, the mech who might not have been his equal in ruthlessness or strength, but who easily matched him in resourcefulness and sheer stubborn will… would provide him with an heir to his line.

The Council had only looked at Optimus as another pawn in their games. And yet, without any prompting or anyone’s permission, the young Autobot had already dedicated himself to the idea of raising a sparkling. Not just bearing one, but caring, teaching and nurturing.

The dull ache of dread in the former warlord’s spark subsided by some degree.

Maybe he hadn’t made such a bad deal after all.

Something of his processor’s rambling path towards acceptance must’ve reflected on his face or field, because the younger mech tilted his helm curiously as he regarded the former Decepticon. 

Blue lips parted, maybe to ask a question, but right on that instant the sound of the lock being overridden echoed through the room.

Optimus started and turned around to face the door just in time to see it starting to open, only to be suddenly snatched from behind and yanked backwards. The truckformer landed on his back, and in an instant found himself pinned between the berth and a huge grey form that was hovering over his chassis, engine growling.

The door slid open all the way and in the opening stood Ratchet. 

To the medic’s credit, he only paused long enough to refresh his optics once when he came face to face with an angry warbuild leaning over his commanding officer with a fearsome snarl on his faceplate.

“Well, nice to see you too.”

“Ratchet?” Optimus halfway yelped. Flustered, the Prime tried to squirm out from under the heavy form, though he couldn’t move far with the other pinning him down. “What are you doing here?”

“Someone had the great epiphany that maybe someone should check on the two of you since you hadn’t shown your faceplates since being left alone.” the ancient medic crumbled. “And since the powers that be also want a medic’s confirmation on your… condition, but they didn’t know how dark and snarly here might react to interruption, I was volunteered.”

With that, the ambulance unceremoniously pulled a scanner from subspace and waved an impatient servo at the couple on the berth. 

“Now sit up straight and let me get some readings. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get the Pit out of here.”

The Prime scooted up to perch on the edge of the berth and his faceplate heated as the obvious stains on his frame came into clear view. His old teammate however didn’t spare the evidence of the two mech’s coupling more than a cursory glance. 

Megatron sat back, holding himself in stiff contrast to his inordinate reaction only moments ago. He vehemently stomped to the ground the urge to snarl as the medic none too gently prodded Optimus into a position from where he could easier take readings of the Prime’s spark and frame. 

“You must be proud to know they deemed you valuable enough to send straight into the cyberwolves den, as it were.” the warbuild bit out.

Ratchet snorted and turned to regard the former Decepticon directly.

“You’re saying that like it’s new. There’s a whole graduating class of academy medics who’d gladly see my helm on a spike, just so I’d stop poking holes into their ‘groundbreaking’ new theories.” a small smirk crept over his face. “Nice to see the coding’s taking well, by the way. I didn’t expect the protective urges to appear so soon.”

Megatron’s optics widened and his fists clenched convulsively. Before he could say another word however, the older Autobot turned away from the first patient and stepped fearlessly right into the grey mech’s personal space. 

The huge mech could only blink in surprise at the smaller form that was waving a scanner over as much of the heavily armored chassis as he could reach, while casting a critical optic over the rest.

“Slag it all, is this the same field patch I put on when you were first brought in? Someone’s gonna be coughing up exhaust once I get my servos on them…”

The warlord risked a bewildered glance at the Prime, who was watching him with an alarmingly smug look. 

“Better get used to it.” the younger mech said. “Ratchet’s brand of tender loving care comes with a firm ‘or else’ clause attached.”

“You bet it does.” the medic muttered from somewhere near Megatron’s abdomen as he poked some welds there.

Finally the short red and white mech straightened again with a creak, and stepped back to regard both of the mechs still seated on the berth. 

“Well, I can’t say I find anything that needs immediate attention on either of you. Optimus is sparked, but at this point there’s nothing to do but let your systems do what they’re meant to do, and if those so-called repairs on Megatron have held so far, they’ll last another few cycles. However, I will be scheduling you both a full maintenance within the next orn, and so help me, you had better show up.”

He cast a hard look at the former Decepticon. “ESPECIALLY you.”

Megatron arched an orbital ridge. “Please. Do you think that I’d be functioning as well as I do at my age if I made a habit of ignoring my medic’s orders?”

The grey mech cast a meaningful glance over Ratchet’s own form, and Optimus noticed the medic’s optic twitching in a way that usually heralded flying tools. The truck hastened to interrupt:

“Will the Council really approve of you taking over as our medic? I mean… They’ve gone to extreme lengths so far to keep control over every detail, and you don’t exactly have a shining record of following orders.”

“On the contrary, they asked me, based on my ‘familiarity’ with the both of you. Which pretty much translates that they won’t send in anyone they might have use for later. At least not until they have seen some proof that the ‘Cons actually can be domesticated.” the medic’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Turns out, they’re not as certain of their plan’s success as they are trying to make it appear.”

“Upper class glitches trying to give the impression of control even while they don’t know what’s going to happen next. So nice to see things are carrying on as usual.” The sarcasm in the warbuild’s tone was thick enough to crack.

Optimus shot a glare towards the larger mech, who only acknowledged it with a raised orbital ridge. Deciding that sometimes knowing how to choose one’s battles was a skill worth practicing, the tri-colored Prime turned back to the medic.

“So, what happens right now?”

“In the immediate ‘now’, since I’ve determined that you’ve followed the plan like good little mechs, I’m supposed to give you the location and key codes to your new hab suite, which the two of you will share.” the old mech punctuated the statement with a databurst of the very same.

“And before you start protesting or any such slag, yes it’s perfectly reasonable. Your old quarters barely fit one mech, let alone two. Not to mention the attitude one of them brings in.”

Undaunted by Megatron’s narrowing optics, the medic then pulled a servoful of polishing cloths from subspace and tossed them to Optimus. “Now make yourselves presentable, and we can get out of here. There’s a transport waiting to take you to your new quarters and I still need to report back.”

Optimus was struck by the image of himself doing a walk of shame through the building and all the various checkpoints between here and the entrance, accompanied by Megatron in a matching disgraceful state. He grimaced and quickly set to work on cleaning off the evidence from his frame. Even if the whole building knew what they’d been brought here for, he didn’t need to parade the aftermath on his plating.

Megatron followed suit, but where the younger mech carefully tucked the soiled cloths into subspace for later disposal, the warbuild simply tossed the used bits of mesh over his shoulder for someone else to take care of. The Prime gave the larger mech a flat look, but was only answered with a shrug and an insolent smirk. Rolling his optics, Optimus led the way out of the berth chamber into the main room of the suite.

Ratchet was waiting for them by the door, deep in some unpleasant thoughts if the set of his mouth was anything to go by. He looked up as the two approached, and gave them a brief once-over before nodding tersely in approval. 

Optimus looked at his old teammate and felt his orbital ridges drawing together. Ratchet tended to always be short in manner and patience, but the tri-colored Prime could sense that in this instant there was more to it. He had shed a good deal of his naivete since his academy days, so he didn’t for a moment expect that his closest friends would remain unaffected by everything that was going to get turned on its audial over the next few orns. 

He was about to say something, when the prickling sense of a living frame close behind him washed over his back. Suddenly and forcibly reminded of their audience, the Prime shoved down the instinct to reach out for his teammate. They were all currently one ill-thought word away from an explosion, and Ratchet wouldn’t appreciate any gestures he might interpret as coddling in front of their former enemy. They would have to wait until later to air out their doubts, in private.

Clearing his vocalizer, Optimus instead reached past the medic, for the door controls. “Well, time to face the universe then?”

Only, just before his finger reached the panel, his wrist was caught by a white servo. Thrown off course, he turned to his teammate, and was for a moment taken aback by the expression of worry the other wore.

“Optimus, I know you’re far from a fresh recruit straight from the academy, and I probably don’t need to tell you this, but for my peace of mind I have to say it: Lay low for a while.” the ambulance glanced at the warbuild looming over them both, but then continued: 

“I know how you wanted to use your new status as a hero to push for some changes, but now is not the time for them. This whole plan is probably the most insidious the Council has ever cooked up, but they will be watching you closely to see if their investment is paying off. They may still decide to play safe and nix everything. Don’t give them the excuse to rid themselves of two potential threats at once.”

Optimus straightened and nodded gravely without a word. The old medic looked at the mech that had under his optics grown from a academy washout into a leader. Then from the corner of his optic he took in the maybe-former Decepticon, who was watching the young mech and, from the light in his optics, maybe seeing some of the same things Ratchet was seeing.

Ratchet didn’t quite manage a smile, but his jaw didn’t feel as tight as before as he jabbed a finger at the door panel and let the door hiss open. “Alright, let’s roll out.”

The low, slightly disgusted sound from Megatron managed to pull a smile from him.


End file.
